The Most Memorable Thing In My Life
by Simon920
Summary: While in Junior High, Dick writes an English essay.


Title: The Most Significant Things in My Life

Author: Simon

Characters: Dick Grayson

Rating: PG

Summary: Dick writes an English essay in Junior High

Warnings: none

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes.

**Dick Grayson**

**Ms Adams**

**Period Seven**

**The Most Significant Things in My Life**

Five years ago my parents were killed and I went to live with a stranger who petitioned the courts to became my guardian.

Looking at that sentence it seems a simple enough thing, something that happens to people all the time but when it happens to you it's pretty hard to deal with. It was for me, anyway. I know it changed my life and I know it will probably continue to change it in ways I haven't thought about yet.

Until I was eight, I lived with my parents. We were circus aerialists, flyers, and traveled most of the year with Haly's Circus, touring either the United States or Europe, alternating one for the other every year and I started flying in the act when I was about three and a half. It was a medium sized show, not as big as Barnum and Bailey but beyond the county fair sized. We'd play two or three shows a day at every venue for four days or so then move to the next town and repeat the cycle. My parents said it was a comfortable routine, we were part of a community and we were good at what we did. Our hook, the thing that set us apart from other flyers was that we never worked with a net.

We were the headliners, the top act, and so I guess we were probably the highest paid, but I know there was never much money.

When we were touring we lived in a small trailer, pulled behind a red Ford pick up and with Dad's Harley strapped on the back. He usually drove and I would sometimes pretend to be sleeping, sitting between my parents on the bench seat so that I could hear what they were saying. I loved listening to them, even when they were usually just discussing day-to-day things like what to have for dinner or how good the audience was at the last show. Sometimes they'd talk about me, thinking I couldn't hear. They'd discuss whether I was ready for a new trick on the bars or, maybe it would be better if I went to stay with some relatives so I could go to a regular school. I'd start to get upset at that and they always ended up deciding to let me try the triple or a new twist and let me go on being home schooled by my mother.

I loved the circus and I still miss it.

When I was eight the show was booked for a charity performance at the Stein Arena in Gotham. It was a good venue and the house seated about ten thousand people. I think it was sold out that night, but to me it was just another show. That's what a lot of people don't understand. When you do five hundred performances a year, one more isn't any big deal, even if you're supposed to meet the mayor or governor or someone. It was just another show. I was a lot more excited about my father telling me he'd managed to get tickets for the sixth game of the World Series the next day.

I remember doing my part of the act. I threw a quad, got a standing O and climbed down to the ground to be out of my parent's way for the rest of the act. I was looking up, watching them do a warm-up catch. The ropes broke and they fell.

My memories of that night are sketchy but I know I stood next to them and knelt down beside them. Dad was killed instantly but my mother was still alive and tried to say something to me but couldn't. There was a lot of blood.

In a minute or two, she died, as well. The police made me leave the bodies, though I didn't want to. They were covered by the paramedics, loaded onto stretchers and put in a coroner's van. That was the last I saw them.

Jacques and Philippe, a couple of the clowns, came over to try to comfort me because I was crying, but I don't really remember much about that. Someone told me about that later and they also said that a man from the audience did the same, but I've forgotten that too, and am just going by what I was told.

That night a mistake was made by the Child Services people and instead of being sent to temporary foster care or allowed to stay with family friends in the show, I was taken to Juvenile Detention and ended up locked in a cell. The mistake was compounded when my file was lost and I was left there for about a month before anyone noticed. I still get angry when I think about it, so I try not to most of the time. About all I'll say was that it was pretty bad. I hadn't done anything wrong, I'd just seen my parents die and I was an eight-year-old put in a holding area with teenaged gang members. I'm think I'm still bitter that no one thought to get me so I could attend the funerals, but there's nothing that can fix it, so I try not to think about that either. I guess that, in a way it was good that I was in shock then because I don't think I could have stood it if I wasn't numb.

On what turned out to be my last day in Juvie one of the officers came for me in the recreation room and took me to a small office. At first I thought I was being punished for something but then I was told that one of the people who had been at the show had filed a petition to become my legal guardian. I wasn't exactly sure what that meant, but I had an idea. I remember saying that all I wanted was to go back to the show and thought that it must be one of the circus people who had finally come to get me, but I was wrong. I was told the show was in Ohio and I couldn't be transported across state lines because I was a material witness to my parents murders—it turned out that their deaths were a shakedown for protection money, so unless I wanted to stay where I was they thought I should basically get while the going was good since the demand for traumatized eight year olds by potential foster parents isn't too large.

I agreed to go with whoever had filed the petition because I figured it had to be better than prison. The social worker kept telling me how lucky I was, how the man who wanted me was famous and rich and would be able to do a lot for me in addition to just giving me a place to live. By then I didn't care who it was, so long as I could get out of jail and I figured that if it was really bad, I could always run away.

I'd never heard of Bruce Wayne until the day he took me to his house, but I later found out he was the audience member who'd tried to be kind to me after the accident. I remember that it was hard getting used to living in the Manor and a lot of the time I still feel like I'm just playing a role by acting the part of 'Bruce Wayne's Ward'.

I went with Bruce—that's what I call him. I wasn't about to call him 'Dad' and he's never asked me to. He knows, I guess we both know he's not my father and I don't want anyone to replace my real father. Bruce and I both know that if I could I'd have my parents back, but Bruce tries hard to do what he thinks is good for me and I suppose he usually succeeds. I know that he cares about me and worries that he's not a good parent to me, but he is. He does the best he can and I know that. I doubt if there's much he wouldn't do if he thought it would be for my good. I know that he loves me and I've come to love him.

Sometimes I think he'd like to do more for me, but I grew up working and knowing we didn't have much money. It would never occur to me to ask my parents to buy me something because I knew that even if they could afford it, there wouldn't be any place to put it. I'm still not comfortable asking Bruce for things and so I don't very often

You see, the thing is that I was happy with my parents, traveling with the show. If they hadn't died I'd probably still be there, touring eight months a year and living in Florida in the off-season. The circus was my home and the performers and crew made up the town I lived in most of the time.

For a long time I was angry about my parent's death and I know that's a common reaction. Bruce thought it would be a good idea for me to see a grief counselor, and I did for a couple of years. I went through all the usual stages people do when they grieve; the anger both at the man who ordered their deaths and at my parents for leaving me alone and at the system for locking me in jail and then forgetting about me. I guess I'm still working on the anger. Then there was denial, guilt that I was still alive, depression that I know sometimes scared Bruce, and finally acceptance of what had happened. The last part took the longest and sometimes I'm still not sure if I'm there yet. I think maybe I'm still working on parts of it all.

If I could change what happened I would, but I can't. No one can so I try to just go with the flow. My Dad used to say that you play the cards you're dealt and he was right, so I try to do what I think he'd want.

Two things I had no control over happened to me that have changed my life; my parents were murdered and Bruce Wayne took me in and pretty much treats me like his son.

5/22/05

4


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